


Trip-Official (working title)

by reiley



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiley/pseuds/reiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is not a story.  It, I feel, was a writing exercise to get into Gwen’s head that I dashed off rather quickly way back in… sometime in 2008 - I’m not sure when exactly.  The whole thing reads like an elaborate setup for the punch-line at the end, yet, oddly enough, I remember that line coming as a complete surprise to me as I’d not been intentionally heading in that direction at all.  I’m posting b/c I like certain elements of this (I believe I posted it on a WIP post somewhere once before, as well) and I really don’t think I’m ever going to do anything further with it.</p>
<p>originally posted January 13, 2010</p>
    </blockquote>





	Trip-Official (working title)

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a story. It, I feel, was a writing exercise to get into Gwen’s head that I dashed off rather quickly way back in… sometime in 2008 - I’m not sure when exactly. The whole thing reads like an elaborate setup for the punch-line at the end, yet, oddly enough, I remember that line coming as a complete surprise to me as I’d not been intentionally heading in that direction at all. I’m posting b/c I like certain elements of this (I believe I posted it on a WIP post somewhere once before, as well) and I really don’t think I’m ever going to do anything further with it.
> 
> originally posted January 13, 2010

* * *

Gwen silently fidgets in her seat, garish red vinyl squeaking beneath her. She almost wishes Ianto had come along just to see his reaction to the décor. Granted, the seats were kinder on her bum than those hard, plastic ones, however monumentally hideous.

Jack taps the tabletop with his pencil, drawing her attention back to the meeting. She’d been drifting again. She wonders how Jack has been able to sit here so silently for the last… She slips her mobile out of her pocket to check the time. Oh, that’s just not possible. It can’t have only been forty-seven minutes since the start. At least the first ten were taken up with coffee and pastries and… and _mingling_. She’d watched Jack _mingle_. She’s seen Jack flirt, work a room, dozens of times, but he’d looked bored and mildly annoyed with this lot - offering a smile and a handshake, but nothing more.

With a sigh, she tucks her mobile back in the pocket of her skirt. She mightn’t have bothered dressing up for this, at all. Jack was wearing his usual getup. Although, she’s fairly certain he’d look dashing in anything. Even half-naked, shirt rumpled and hanging off his shoulders, he was the picture of strength and authority. She purses her lips and mentally shakes the image out of her head. Wouldn’t do to burst into giggles while Mr. Bushy Eyebrows is lecturing about proper procedures for inter-agency relations and security.

She can’t help tapping her foot, impatiently, anything to keep her awake, until Jack nudges her under the table. It’s not her fault if his foot lingers next to hers a moment too long, his trousers brushing her stockings with soft _shishing_ sounds. She looks down and admires her nearly bare calf just touching Jack’s leg, and the smooth curve down to her foot and the high heel of her smart, black pumps.

Rhys had told her, just that morning, how sexy she looked in these shoes. With a pang in the middle of her stomach, Gwen moves her foot away. She’d been so excited about her first official Torchwood business trip. Being in charge, deferred to, shown respect by important people - she’d never before imagined that any of that was important to her. She hadn’t joined the police to gain respect, she’d merely wanted to help people, to make a difference. However, in the police she had the uniform and the uniform commanded respect. To a certain degree. In Torchwood there’s nothing to show the world what important work she does.

All things considered, the trip is a bit of a letdown. No wonder Ianto had been happy to stay behind to watch the rift.

The chair beside her scrapes against the tile floor as Jack stands, offering another of his lack-luster handshakes. Gwen quickly gets to her feet and smiles at the men across the table. Only one other woman. She should complain about that to someone.

As the other people file noisily out of the room, Gwen is dismayed to see Jack flop back into his seat. Surely they’re done and can go now.

Jack grins, tiredly, up at her. “Did you catch any of that?”

Resuming her seat, Gwen bites her lip. “Um, maybe you _should_ bring Ianto from now on.”

“He hates coming to these. Don’t worry. You didn’t miss much. The good stuff is later tonight, anyway. I think there’s a party. Free booze, if nothing else.” Jack slides a folder across the table to her. “Check the agenda, see what’s on next.”

Gwen flips it open. “Another ‘Assessment’ meeting, then lunch, more assessment - God, how much is there really to assess?” She sighs. “Then a break for the day. Then at eight is ‘Networking.’ I assume that’s the free booze?” She grins at him.

“Yeah. That’s the official agenda.” Jack taps the table again, impatiently. “What’s on ours? It’s underneath.”

“Hmm, OK. We’ve got dinner reservations at Chez Gerard? Very posh,” she says, with approval. “These shoes won’t be an entire waste, then.”

“Not wasted one bit.” Jack leers.

Blushing, Gwen returns her eyes to the list. “And then… ‘pointless small-talk accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol.’ That would be the party thing. Travel time back to the hotel room and…” She stops, rereading the page. “You scheduled in time for _phone sex_?!”

“Of course not!” Jack takes the paper from her hand. “Ianto makes up the schedule.”

* * *


End file.
